


Concealed Compassion

by MorpheusEnMemori (Its_Darling)



Series: Transition [5]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Past Abuse, Trans Male Character, Trans!Spy, Uncle-Niece Relationship, awkward murder uncle, mentions the other mercs, mild discussion of dysphoria, mild discussion of genitals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-14
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-12-02 00:36:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11498121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Its_Darling/pseuds/MorpheusEnMemori
Summary: A curious happening where Spy has to be the uncle figure for a confused Scout. It goes about as well as anyone can hope for.About sexuality and gender, and being the aloof uncle that explains it to the best of his ability.Title by phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess





	Concealed Compassion

**Author's Note:**

> I found out old terminology.  
> I think will use a mixture of modern and period terms.  
> Just easier on me tbh and discovering many people said gay or invert for trans people (also gay for bisexuals) just kinda made me go “huh? I got the homophile thing but uh” (also my research shown the term transgender appeared in the 60s, but uh, didn’t gain popularity until the mid 70s)

                In his profession, Spy notices when certain people are being far too boisterous for their own good. Scout was a loud man, at every given opportunity. Given little things he found out, especially from the RED Spy, many of it started fitting a larger picture.  
                It briefly made him wonder if his daughter was the same, despite how he knew he would never truly know. Finding her would not change a thing, and Spy… Well, he couldn’t say he _sympathized_ , but he could find the situation ironic.

                Back on Scout, Spy knew when someone was probing. The comments put him on edge, reminding him of times when the police decided that homophiles were being too noticeable. That was in France. The US, things were… a little more complicated, but nothing Spy could not manage. He does know it’s easier to navigate certain spheres if you’re aware of their existence, and know how to find them. Keeping out of sight when you already had to? Simple. Most others stumble on such havens in error, or coincidence.  
  
                In a private game between Demo, Sniper, and him, Sniper made a comment about Scout’s probing. The three of them concluded it was either a call for advice, or a seeping denial of himself. The first was manageable, the second was dangerous. Spy thought this over, wondering, what he should do… Well, more like mentally accept he would have to act.  
                It took an entire fortnight for this mental battle to finish, and he privately reaches out to Scout. He slipped a letter under the runner’s door, and waited in the designated area mentioned in it. It was at the roof of the base, a nice private smoking spot. Only the Sniper could realistically see anyone up here. Private enough, for the conversation he expects will take place.  
  
                Spy figured it had to be ‘a call for advice’ and an old friend of his would be sorely disappointed if he did not uptake the ‘informative uncle figure’ that all young gays need.  
                Spy doubted he could handle being Scout’s uncle figure, but he had to try. For the team, he reasons. All he has to do is decipher the entire lexicon of Boston. Spy already anticipates smoking an entire pack of cigarettes, just to get through this.

                Scout slams open the door, already talking a mile a minute.

                “So, y’know, I know you’re an aloof kind of guy, and poke fun at everyone, but letters. Letters under doors. When I’m still in the room, and you wanna pretend you didn’t just-.” Scout starts, “Wait, what is it you said in it?”

                Inhale, keep the smoke in for a bit, let the nicotine ride through. Stop wishing to be in Spain smoking from hookahs with questionable substances in them. One of these days, Spy is going to have a hookah and hash imported from Morocco.

                “Spy?” Scout asks.

                Lots of hash, smoke it all the next furlough. Have _everyone_ question the smell.

                “You read my letter and you have no idea what I said in it.” Spy says.

                “Well, aside from come up here for some sort of…” Scout says, “soirée?”

                Spy doubted he wrote that. Soirées typically include small snacks and tea, and more than just two people participating in it. Though, Spy was surprised Scout could even pronounce it right.

                “Conversation.” Spy says.

                “Then why not just write that? Or is your French mystique so sensitive?” Scout asks.

                Spy flicks his cigarette away, turning to face Scout and leans against the bars. He pulls out another cigarette, keeping complete eye contact on Scout. The Bostonian interpreted this as an intimidation tactic, frowning and crossing his arms. They remain silent, for much too long, all while Spy attempts to use his umpteenth cigarette to relax.

                “How do you know French?” Spy asks.

                Not quite relevant, but it was something on his mind. Scout let slip he knew a great deal more French than what was reasonable from his time at BLU and presuming what words meant. Scout was ready to talk about it, meaning it was a pleasant story.

                “A friend back at home. She emigrated from France, live with her grandparents while her dad done other stuff, from what I heard.” Scout says, “Real tough lady, Tess. She could dance her way into a perfect kick. Never knew ballet did a number on the legs. Swore as well as the rest of us. She taught everyone the swears first. Can’t forget ‘Comment tu vas, enculé?’ was a common greeting between us.”

                He chuckles, seeing some similarities from his old friend. Only, they would swap languages for fun. Interesting parallel…

                “Hm. Now that I think on it, Ma said that she went out for work. We’re about a year apart, and apparently she’s all the way in another country. Not sure where, Tess wasn’t very specific.” Scout says, “Eh, she should be fine, she sends letters to Ma all the time. Can’t call, something about the expenses.”

                Small details, Spy always enjoyed learning these little things. Says much about their personality.

                “But uh… you didn’t ask me to come up here to know about Boston and my friends.” Scout says.

                “It _could_.” Spy says, “I mostly thought you wanted to… talk.”

                He already hears the start of the usual: talk about _what_. What in the world would Spy want to hear that Scout doesn’t already do on a normal basis? Spy lets the thought process sort itself out, because he knew many things about Scout. One of them was…  
                Well, the boy wasn’t _stupid_. Impulsive, prone to mix up signals, and perhaps in his head a little too much. What Scout lacks in book smarts, he could make up in many ways. Improvising was one, piecing details was another.

                It didn’t take him long.

                “Na-ah, naw!” Scout says, “You are not here to talk about those faggot comments I made.”

                “It could.” Spy says.

                Being reserved would serve to his benefit. Scout would dismiss it as Spy’s usual use of the ‘French mystique.’ Well, that’s what he _thought_.

                “Okay, look, I know it’s a bit more big note than what you’re used to, and you probably sorted out that I was ‘testing the waters’ or whatever the hell you call it. But I did not expect _you_ of all people to hit on me.” Scout says.

                Spy almost inhales his cigarette, choking on the smoke and whatever bits of the cigarette that got in.

                “Quoi.” Spy says.

                “Don’t ‘what’ me! You heard exactly what I said!” Scout says.

                That was…  
                Spy has little idea if he should be bewildered or laugh at the absurdity of his current situation. He leans on bewildered, not sure how Scout got that idea. Spy hopes that by spelling out the main issues he has, that Scout will understand his perspective.

                “I am around your father’s age and I have a daughter your age.” Spy says, “Why would I pursue you?”

                 “A daughter?” Scout asks, “You never mention having family.”

                “Oui. I don’t.” Spy says, “I… had photographic proof, but... I think RED took it.”

                He hopes he’s sincere enough for Scout. The boy is perceptive to blatant lies, but very few people know him for being honest. Scout processes this, picking at the tape on his hands. Eventually, he relents.

                “I’ll see if I can _casually_ mention this missing photo to my bro.” Scout says, “I don’t really believe you, but I guess if I get the photo back, what choice do I got?”

                It will have to be enough, Spy supposed.

                “Merci.” Spy says, “No, I interpreted your speech as a… call for advice.”

                “Well, I doubt you could give _me_ advice.” Scout starts, “Na-ah, ain’t nothing I can’t figure out. Most the others are probably fags too. I know Snipes admitted to being one, I found out what pooftah meant. Had a feeling you were weird, but you couldn’t help me.”

                “And you certainly feel alright using words that most interpret as slurs.” Spy deadpans.

                Somehow. Someway. He silenced Scout for many minutes. Spy would count, but he finds himself listening out, hearing a stream of Australian curses coming from the campervan. Spy glances towards it, seeing Lawrence toss out an object. Probably a coffee pot, given the sound of glass breaking. And the fact he’s been complaining about it for some time.

                “Did Snipes finally toss his busted pot?” Scout asks.

                “It appears so.” Spy says.

                Scout edges himself closer, keeping some space, but leans against the railing in a similar way that Spy does.

                “Alright. Maybe it’d be helpful to like… learn some new words. Broaden vocabulary.” Scout says, “But don’t you use fancy French words?”

                “To some extent, Americans use ‘gay’ for just about everything, but in Europe we tend to use ‘homophile.’ Then there’s the ‘inverts’ or ‘transgender,’ that one-.” Spy starts.

                “Wait. Invert? Transgender?” Scout asks.

                “Where a person changes their gender, to another one. Some people might consider our non-conforming Pyro to be one.” Spy says, “I will admit, transgender is a new term that sprung up in literature, but many of us like it.”

                As Spy expects, Scout processes what he said.

                “You said us.” Scout says.

                “I did.” Spy says.

                “You’re… you’re one?” Scout asks.

                “Yes.” Spy says.

                It went on for a bit. Are you sure this is what you mean? You’re not just pulling my leg? Okay Spy, real funny, it’s gotta be a joke-.

                “What exactly do you want me to do? Pull out my cock and discover I have a plastic prosthetic in its place?” Spy asks.

                Too blunt, but Spy’s patience thinned far too much.

                “Wait.” Scout starts, “That’s. That explains the dicks all over the place that one time.”

                “Oui. Besides, I am not doing that at all.” Spy says, “Someone would turn off respawn just to kill me.”

                Scout gets the hint, changing the subject.

                “I mean, nice that… well, I don’t think you could help me with…” Scout says, “Naw, just. You’re a guy. But, I don’t know if I am one.”

                _Ah_.

                “The struggles are similar.” Spy says, “The constricted feeling, knowing your body doesn’t line up right. I changed a great deal about myself to feel comfortable. I don’t regret a single thing, it certainly helped the psyche.”

                “But how?” Scout asks, “I mean, sure, we all got money to do whatever we want. But, how can I find someone who can help me through this? How can I find a doctor that won’t just think I’m crazy and not give me what I want? Maybe make me think I have no idea what I even want. Like I said, you’re a guy. I…”

                “And you want to be a woman?” Spy asks.

                “I… maybe. It. It started weird, Tess mentioned how she felt after she started wearing makeup. And I guess I…” Scout says.

                Scout trails off, looking away from Spy. He rubs his hands on his arms. It’s breezy, but in no way cold. In any case, Spy understood. He recalled how he felt when he wore his first men’s suit, when all he had long ago were just… feelings.

                “It starts small, for many.” Spy says, “Some people are different. Some people don’t realize until they’re older. Some knew all along. I knew someone who discovered when he was reaching his twenties. I knew when I was seven. We both heard all sorts of stories of those discovering themselves much later.”

                Scout seemed to understand, perhaps. Maybe he was accepting it, mentally.

                “So… I’m not weird?” Scout asks.

                “I think the weirdest thing about us is being part of BLU, killing people that eerily look like us, sometimes we die, and it’s all for naught since we all respawn and do it again.” Spy says.

                “When you put it that way…” Scout says.

                Should Spy risk another cigarette? He should, Scout never tries to bum one of his.

                “Alright, so, we’re not… weird. Aside from being in this war and killing people that don’t actually die.” Scout says, “But, you’re a guy. How can you help me?”

                “Would it stand to reason I had to be a woman for a long period of time and I would understand the nuances of being a woman just about as much as a woman?” Spy says.

                “There’s the Spy I know. You don’t have to be an ass about that.” Scout says.

                No, Spy didn’t.  
                He sighs, finding that the cigarette is doing nothing for his mood. They hear Lawrence curse over something or another. Spy might see what’s gotten him in a mood, it’d be fun to poke at him later.

                “So…” Scout starts, “You know, bodies.”

                “I am not discussing my genitals.” Spy says.

                “Wait what? But you mentioned the plastic dick you use.” Scout says.

                “Yes. And mentioning to others that I wear one, I can dismiss as losing pieces in a different scuffle. It happens. No one would fault me. But I am not giving you details about my genitals, for you to mouth off to people I do not trust.” Spy says, “I only discuss it with sexual partners. We both are of the understanding we will never be such things.”

                Scout scoffs, mumbling something about how he didn’t expect Spy to provide about as much advice as he was secretive. Spy chuckles at such a comparison, stopping when he lets out a snort.

                “Alright. Fine. Off limits.” Scout says, “but… I mean, you had different ones. Probably too soon for me to be thinking about it.”

                “Au contraire! It is never too soon.” Spy says, “Think of it like goals. Or perhaps like things you want to do. But of course, start small. Clothing is certainly a start.”

                He noticed. It was in his business to notice. The small glint in Scout’s eye, and he seemed ready to discuss all sorts of things he has always wanted to try on. Instead, Scout huffs out a sigh, turning to look out at the sky. Or down to Lawrence, who was…  
                Digging. Probably for a camp fire, but Spy knew his posture. This was frustration motivating the Sniper.

                “If it’s about trying things on… Perhaps I could go with you.” Spy offers, “Or, if I am a poor guest to have, Pyro certainly enjoys all sorts of clothing. You could convince them.”

                “What’s the point if I can’t have them on the base?” Scout says, “or at home.”

                _Ah_.  
                Two problems, in one.

                “You could lie. I could make a convincing jab for a couple weeks. Hiding women’s clothing around the base. Who would be any the wiser if someone accidentally found one in your room?” Spy suggests.

                It didn’t solve the issue involving Scout’s mother. His solution for the base falls apart after a while, but it would be a way to determine who cared and who didn’t.

                “I mean… sure, that… that actually sounds good.” Scout says.

                And he was genuine about his comment.

                “What is it about your mother that scares you?” Spy asks, “She seems… welcoming.”

                Scout knew Spy took an assortment of photos, some while she was with the RED Spy intimately. But that did not include the assortment of other times that he caught them in interesting places.  
                Certain gay nightclubs, for example.

                “It’s a bit different to be okay with being with a guy or a girl than it is to… be a girl.” Scout says.

                Well. The boy wasn’t wrong.

                “I don’t think she would be like my _maman_.” Spy says.

                “How do you know?” Scout counters, “And it ain’t because you took all those fancy photos.”

                Spy thinks it over. He takes off a glove, seeing the first scar he ever had. A burn mark, with a peculiar roundish shape, right on his palm. He knew Scout was looking.

                “I knew at seven. And I was a child, so of course I would make statements.” Spy says, “My _maman_ … she barely tolerated it. Then, one day, she had me in the kitchen. Metal spoon over the gas burner stove. She asked me if I was done with my delusions.”

                “She _burned_ your hand?” Scout asks.

                “Oui. Twice.” Spy says, “Because I moved the first time. When I told her they weren’t delusions, she told me she would give me a reminder as to why they were. But… Does this seem like something your mother would do?”

                Spy clenches his hand, thinking briefly about the searing pain he felt that day. His papa ignored the incident, and Spy learned to keep the feelings to himself.

                “Nah… I… I can’t imagine ma doing that to me. Maybe kick me out of the house, but that? That’s… that’s cruel.” Scout says.

                Spy puts his glove back on, hoping Scout does not ask about the incident further.

                “I would not do it over the phone.” Spy suggests, “In person… well, many noted a clear difference. Many more say having a friend made a difference.”

                “Great.” Scout says, with his usual amount of sarcasm, “I just have to find a friend willing to go all the way to Boston, deal with ma, and potentially get me out if it turns out she’ll kill me.”

                Old words from his friend come up.  
                He would want Spy to do this. They both done this, in some form, in different variations. They knew… so well.  
                Doing this alone, for a lack of a better word, _sucked_.

                “You don’t have to go alone.” Spy says.

                “yeah I just-.” Scout starts.

                His brain catches up with his mouth, thinking over what Spy said.  
                It was an invitation. Scout could refuse, Spy expected him to refuse. Instead, Scout slips away, heading back towards the door downstairs.

                “You’ll get an answer later.” He said.

                Good enough for Spy. He hears the door close, returning his attention to the brooding bushman, who cannot seem to get his camp fire started.

**Author's Note:**

> Can this go further?  
> Yes.  
> Is it going to?  
> I haven't decided yet.  
> (It'd legit follow up with Spy's offer of "you don't have to go alone" and be the aloof uncle figure in Boston and it'd be... a bit long. But I also feel it'd detract from this work as a whole. Who knows, I'm essentially gonna see what people say. Do y'all want more, or are y'all k with this?)  
> twitter @morpheusememori  
> writing blog @morpheusenmemori  
> whatever blog @prince-darkleboop


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